


Unhappiness, Unluckiness

by majorbisexualdisaster



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Crying, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, So much angst, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tears, This Is Sad, book and showverse okok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorbisexualdisaster/pseuds/majorbisexualdisaster
Summary: Of all the people in Westeros, why must it be his brother who bears his soulmark?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Robb Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84





	Unhappiness, Unluckiness

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags folks

It is Theon that notices it first, a smear of black scrawled across both their chests. "Maybe they're half-sisters," he japes, smirking and leaning against the door to the baths. "A bastard and an heir for the bastard and the heir." In truth, it is the opposite. The heir for the bastard and the bastard for the heir. And they are not half-sisters, they're half-brothers. 

Jon has always loved Robb, ever since he was a babe. Their father would tell them how Robb would climb into Jon's cradle at night, pudgy hands hugging him close to his chest. As they grew, they were inseparable, they trained together, took their lessons together, snuck into each other's rooms at night. As time went by and they grew from boys into men, Jon's love became impure. Ignoble, shameful thoughts came to him at night. 

The day the words on his chest finally become clear enough to read, Jon's heart shatters, glass shards tearing his innards apart. A shame, greater than any he has ever known, but not a surprise. Robb's name, written in his perfectly neat lordling writing, is etched into his flesh for eternity. Jon stares in his looking glass longer than he ever has before, certain that the words will morph into another name, another person.

It is not unheard of for siblings to be soulmates—Jaime and Cersei Lannister, Jaehaerys II and Alysanne Targaryen, among others—no matter if the marks were bestowed by the gods themselves, incest is a grievous crime for anyone other than the Targaryen family. He can count the number of pairings on one hand. Never have they been of the same sex though. He never thought that he would—that _Robb_ would—

Or, perhaps it is worse. Rarer still, then siblings, but there are still recorded cases. It could be that—there is the chance that Robb _isn't_ his soulmate, that their marks do not match. That would be an even greater shame. The bastard son in love with the trueborn (he loves Robb, he always has); Lady Catelyn would have him sent to the Wall, his father wouldn't be able to stop her. Even now, once they find out, he will have to join the Watch.

A knock jars him from his thoughts. 

"One moment," Jon shouts, pulling on his tunic, using clumsy fingers to tie the laces of his doublet. 

He isn't sure what would be worse, his Lord father or Robb standing behind the door. Lady Catelyn, he decides. Taking a deep breath, Jon unlatches his door and pushes it open. The solemn face of Ned Stark stares back at him, his dark hair tied back in a knot only accentuating the discontent furrow of his brow. 

"May I come in?" he asks, waiting for Jon to nod before stepping into his chamber. 

He cannot remember the last time his father was here, years must've gone by. Ned Stark's presence fills the room, broad shoulders stretching across the short distance between Jon's bed and the wall. The silence is thick between them, filled with words and rumours unsaid. It chokes him, the weight of this dishonour. His father _knows_. That must mean—

"Robb," his father starts, his strangled voice barely above a whisper, "he has your name."

He's still not looking at Jon, his hands open and close into fists at his side. 

"And I, his," Jon replies, unwarranted, unjust relief lifting the despair from his shoulders. This great shame is not his to bear alone. 

His father's shoulders lose their tension and he finally turns around, a frown twisting his lips. Jon already knows what he will say. In the North, men and men or women and women cannot be wed, it is a terrible familial dishonour. Siblings, even _half_ -siblings, is unspeakable in itself, an affront to all that is sacred. But both? The North would revolt in its disgust. 

Jon wants to vomit. 

"I will go to the Wall," he says. He's the bastard, he goes. Robb will still inherit. "No one will ever have to know."

"Jon," his father says, the concern in his voice betrayed by the hope—the _relief—_ in his eyes. "You could stay, be his consort if you wish. No one will know either way." It is an empty promise, a balm to soothe his heartache at night. He cannot stay.

A foul creature crawls through his stomach, up into his throat, sharp claws tearing him from the inside, making him choke on his own blood. "No," he spits. "No, no—It's better this way. I can—I should pack my things."

Ned Stark nods, stepping out of his room and gently closing the door behind him. An awful pressure builds behind his eyes, burning until his vision begins to blur. Of all the people in Westeros, why must it be his _brother_ , why Robb? Even Sansa would have been slightly better: only half the shame, only half the dishonour.

With every meagre item he throws in his trunk, the creature squeezes him tighter, tighter until he's sure he will be spilt in two. Hot tears run down his cheeks as he takes gasping breaths—why _Robb_? hasn't he suffered enough? do the gods hate him? why must he be the incestuous, deviant bastard?

His door creaks open, bright auburn curls and intense blue eyes step through. "Jon I—" Robb stops talking as he catches sight of Jon's tears. "Oh, Jon." Robb's hands are pulling him closer, pressing his head into his tunic. "Oh, Jon, don't cry. Please don't cry."

He doesn't know how long they stand there as he sobs into his brother's chest. His hands clutch at the soaked fabric as Robb rubs soothing circles across his back, whispering murmurs into Jon's hair. When Jon stops crying, Robb walks them to the edge of Jon's bed, still holding him tight to his chest.

"You don't have to take the black," he says, looking at Jon with a fierce passion storming in his Tully-blue eyes. "I—I can cede my inheritance to Bran. We can go to Dorne, to Essos, somewhere where we can be together."

Jon shakes his head, pressing his forehead against Robb's shoulders to avoid being burned by his stare. "You _can't_ —"

"Jon—"

"You can't, Robb. We both know it." His breath hitches as another wave of tears fall from his eyes. "It's not— _we're_ not allowed, Robb. Father, your—your mother, all our siblings would bear the weight of our dishonour. I can't live with that. I can't." He looks back up at his brother, at the despair flooding his eyes. "You could not either, Robb. Do not lie to me."

Robb wraps his arms tight around Jon, resting his head on his. "You're my soulmate, Jon. The—the gods branded me with _your_ name. And—and—and—"

Robb begins to tremble against him, his tears burning a path down Jon's face. They clutch each other tightly, calloused hands and strong arms pushing each other closer. It's as if Robb is melting into his body (or Jon is melting into his), the heat of their tears, the weight of their dishonour driving them to seek refuge in the other's body. 

The stubble on Robb's face brushes his tear-stained cheek, their noses bump together. They share the air between them, Robb's hot breath fanning his face, foreheads touching. Jon cannot bring himself to open his eyes, cannot break this—this heady sensation washing over him. If he opens his eyes, it is over. If he opens his eyes, Robb must leave and Jon must pack. If he opens his eyes, he cannot have what his body is craving. Jon would gladly go blind for a moment with Robb.

He opens his eyes.

"You should go," Jon says, turning his head away, avoiding looking at the pained face Robb will surely make.

"Jon—"

He shakes his head. "It's better this way, never knowing." Jon walks to his basin, splashing the cool water over his splotchy face. "We're still brothers."

Robb walks up behind him, hands on his shoulder forcing Jon to turn around, to look at him. "I have loved you for longer than I can remember."

"I'd rather never know than wish and want for the rest of my life."

"I have to know, Jon. We only have now. You will have your vows and—and I will have a—we only have now." Robb's lips press against his, soft and chapped. It is sweet and new, hands gripping his waist, holding him steady as his knees turn to water beneath him. It is over too soon, the heat of Robb's body retreating until they are only connected by Jon's hand fisted in his doublet. 

"We don't have to—we can only—Father said I should say goodbye, that you must leave by midmorning. We have time, if—if you want."

* * *

The pain of leaving Winterfell behind is greater than anything he has ever imagined.

Little Arya stands at the gates, tears stream down her face as she curses at everyone and everything. Lord Stark has his hand on Arya's shoulder, keeping her from running away. Bran seems upset, standing beside Rickon who asks when Jon will return. Sansa stands solemnly beside her Septa, the perfect young lady. Lady Catelyn is unable to hide the smile on her face from where she stands on the rampart, away from the Stark children. Robb. Robb's fists are clenched by his sides. His shoulders shake ever so slightly as he keeps his tears at bay. 

Every step Jon takes away from Winterfell resounds in his bones, clattering them until they break simultaneously. He turns his head; the lush northern landscape has never looked so dreary in his life.

Ghost is curled asleep under Jon's cloak. The warmth of his small body bringing a sad smile to his lips. The soundless pup had fought with all his might when Jon came to take him, Grey Wind bit at Jon's feet until Robb came and picked him up. 

It takes weeks for them to reach the Wall, Jon and his two escorts—two castle guards Jon barely knows. Its beauty almost makes him forget the terrible pain flooding every fibre in his being. Sheer blocks of ice looming high above him, reflecting blues and whites and pinks in the light before dusk. It's astounding, this creation of ice that stood for centuries past and will stand for centuries to come. But as the sun dips below the horizon to the west, the sky is coated with red and orange flames and the ache of missing half of his soul resurges with a fury unlike any other.

Jon has never been this far away from Robb since he was a babe. 

Most of the men at Castle Black no longer have soulmates. There are three other men with names etched into their flesh; the lowborn men have drawings of symbols that match their soulmates'. Most have been scarred over by death.

Jon takes his vow in the godswood beyond the Wall, sealing his fate away from Robb's. 

_"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death."_ Will he ever see Robb again? Will he die in the realm of wildlings before he gets to return to Winterfell?

 _"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children."_ Robb will. He will marry a pretty highborn lady. He will rule over the North in the name of the King. He will keep his shirt on when he fucks sons into her, keep the shame of Jon's name hidden.

 _"I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post."_ He will be the name forgotten in history, a bastard sent off to the Wall. Only three people knowing the truth of it.

_"I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."_

Jon stands a man of the Night's Watch and he wonders what Robb will do when Jon's name scars over on his chest. 

He almost runs when the news comes that Robb is marching to war. It has been many moons since he took his vows, Lord Commander Mormont has made Jon his steward. He almost runs to Robb, his whole being screams for him to steal a horse and _run_ to Robb, to finally see him again. But Samwell Tarly's crying in the training yard and Lord Commander Mormont needs assistance with penning his letters. So, Jon screams in his room, the furs on his bed muffling the sounds, before whispering an apology to Robb. 

He doesn't run. He saves Mormont's life. They go beyond the Wall. He kills the Halfhand. 

The wildlings want him to sleep with Ygritte. She laughs and asks him if he's scared—if he's a _maid_ (he's not, depending on how one looks at it). He doesn't want to sleep with this wild woman who's hair reminds him so much of Robb. She isn't Robb, she's not sweet and stern, a perfect lordling. Gods, she's not his _brother_. 

Ygritte laughs when he asks about her soulmate. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. We're _Free Folk_ , even the gods know that."

He breaks his vows with this woman who is nothing like Robb. He breaks his vows and he saves his life and it feels good, different than it was with Robb, but still good. He cries that night, not for the broken vows he never truly wanted to take, but for his brother, fighting a war while he fucks wildlings. 

He's with Ygritte when it happens. They're sitting close to the fire, a skewered rabbit slowly roasting. His entire body freezes as if he just jumped into frozen water. A dull ringing sounds in his ears as he fumbled with his furs, pulling them off with numb fingers, praying to the gods that it's not true. It can't be true. It can't be true. It can't be true.

Three jagged cuts eclipse Robb's name. Hot trails of blood seeping down the planes of his chest. Jon brushes his thumb over the open cuts, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder as he digs into the wounds, the flare of pain doing nothing to soothe the agony in his heart.

Robb is dead. His brother is dead. His soulmate is dead. 

Robb is dead.

Jon always thought he would die first.

Somebody's hand grips his shoulder, rough fingers digging into his flesh. The ringing stops, the crackle of the fire is the only sound as the wildlings stare at him. "You're free now, Jon Snow," one of them says. 

Jon kills him and steals a horse and runs to Castle Black. 

Ygritte dies in their invasion and he knows he should feel worse, but the anguish of losing _Robb_ is too great to make room for this woman. 

They name him the Lord Commander and he lets the wildlings through the Wall. He did not go to Robb when he had the chance, he could not save him. He will not make the same mistakes again. His brothers hate him for it, they glare and whisper. _Traitor,_ they all think. But he's not. He's saving them like he couldn't save Robb.

He's laying face down in the snow. Blood is pooling around him, steaming in the cold night air. It's his blood, running out from his veins. _For the Watch_ , they said, stabbing his shoulders, his stomach, slashing at his neck and face. _For the Watch._

Is this how Robb felt? Alone and cold and betrayed?

He hears Ghost call to him, offering his mind and his body as a refuge. But images of curling red hair and a morn of soft lips and hard muscle pressed against his body invade his mind. As Jon lay bleeding in the snow, he cannot help the small smile from turning up the corners of his lips. After all this time, after everything they have both suffered, he will finally be reunited with Robb. 

Fin. 


End file.
